


An Interlude With Madness

by CustomerService



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Alcohol, Animal Death, For food purposes, M/M, Madness, Mead, Swearing, up to you, various nicknames meant as insults or pet names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CustomerService/pseuds/CustomerService
Summary: This may be a bit OOC since it's my first time writing Hermaeus Mora and Sheogorath. I'd appreciate some feedback for the next chapter and some tips on how to improve. Enjoy!





	An Interlude With Madness

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a bit OOC since it's my first time writing Hermaeus Mora and Sheogorath. I'd appreciate some feedback for the next chapter and some tips on how to improve. Enjoy!

“When I compared you to a fine beverage I didn’t mean I was interested in you.”  
Hermaeus Mora was scrunched into an uncomfortably small chair in the corner of a dimly lit tavern. Many of the other patrons had vacated the premise once he and his “date” had arrived.  
I’m going to kill Sanguine in the most painful way the next time he crosses my path, the Daedra thought, angrily glaring across the table at his least favorite prince of madness, Sheogorath.  
Admittedly the mad god’s current state was partially his fault but looking back on it, Mora would do anything to turn the blithering idiot in front of him back into the stately prince of perfect order he had once known. At least he had been more tolerable.  
“Oi shut up ya octopus faced hentai ass looking motherfucker, I’m tryin to order me Horker Stew.” Hopeless. Talking to Sheogorath was hopeless. Not only was his voice intolerable, but the way he talked… it was painful on his well learned ears. The grammar, the punctuation, none of it was correct! It was infuriating.  
“Your common tongue is quite annoying.” Mora mused, trying to seem as though he was enjoying the situation slightly, “I would recommend you try something made with venison instead. It’s far more suiting a person of your standards.”  
Sheogorath wasn’t listening though, instead shouting at a poor chicken that had wandered in to get him a waiter. Mora decided to put the poor creature out of its misery. Though his tongue was refined, raw fowl would do for his date with the prince of madness. Might even give him salmonella.  
“Oh! Roasted duck! How did ye know that was my favorite y’handsome devil?” Immediately Sheogorath began to dig into the meal, cutting the meat delicately with a knife and placing it on his plate.  
“So then…” Mora managed to get out, “How has your life been, Sheogorath? Any news from the Isles that would be important to me?”  
“Nothin that should concern ye ever happens in my realm, Mora. Y’should try an’ relax, maybe have some mead.”  
“I.. I-“ Mead?! Was Sheogorath stupid? A Daedric prince couldn’t experience the effects of alcohol, as far as he knew. The offer seemed silly. Yes, mortal beverages did taste fine, but alcohol other than the smallest sip of white wine was where he drew the line. “I’d rather be dead than drinking mead.”  
“Come on now y’stupid lout! It’s free, on th’house. Not like there’s anybody even left here to charge ye for it!” Shegorath exclaimed, “Loosen up a bit! Have some fun! Indulge! Let yerself slip a little, Herma Mora. Have a drink.”  
He sighed as much as a mass of eyes and tentacles could and took the bottle off the table, pulling it into the void. After just the one whole bottle he already felt the sugar getting to his brains. The rich honey-made drink was far more sweet than what he was used to in the occasional meals he took. It tasted delicious though, a new flavor to his palate. But there had to be more than just an intoxicating sweetness - he just had to find out.  
“Like that, didn’t you, ye sly old dog? There’s plenty more where that came from - that is if yer interested.” The Madgod stated, absentmindedly twirling around a fork.  
Oh the temptation! To drink more and give into the sweet honeyed taste and learn the secrets to man’s sweet ichor, or to keep his senses about him and cut this uncomfortable evening short as soon as possible. Desire for knowledge had once more won over reason. “More.” Mora grumbled, holding out a tentacle for the next bottle. Daedric creatures such as himself couldn’t become inebriated, could they? No. The answer was definitely no. He’d seen Sanguine drink entire barrels of the foul mortal drink (bitter and disgusting things that could strip ink off a book), and he showed no signs that mortals showed. He would be fine.  
With the second container of Nordic Mead down, the world started to seem a bit fuzzy. Blame it on the chicken. Just blame it on the raw chicken. He thought, hoping that Sheogorath wouldn’t offer him even more. The idea of becoming even more tipsy was frightening. If that was even happening in the first place, he reminded himself. He was not getting drunk, simply just getting a bit lost in the flavor.  
“Want some more, tentacle brains? I betcha y’can’t even keep that much down that there nonexistent hatch of yours!” Sheogorath exclaimed, “I never took ye for a lightweight.”  
Was that meant to be an insult? Would that incorrigible so-called prince of madness even dare insult him, Hermaeus Mora, ruler of hidden knowledge and keeper of all secrets?! And what even did lightweight mean? He’d have to check at some point, but for now he had a bit of dignity to keep.  
“Hand over the bottle or you’ll know where my ‘hatch’ is.” He growled, “I’m a Daedric Lord. A little bit of mortal drink won’t be enough to bring me to my knees.”  
“Whatever y’say Mora, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye.”


End file.
